


add colour to the world

by Quixotism



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Such sads much woes, Thranduil's life in a terrible nutshell, and his hilaribad life, poetry in motion, sads, the life and times of Thranduil Elvenking, tragic backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 13:23:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3121754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quixotism/pseuds/Quixotism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>grief is more than seven steps for an elf</p>
            </blockquote>





	add colour to the world

**Author's Note:**

> This is vaguelllly based on Lee Pace's thoughts on Mirkwood being a reflection of Thranduil and the Fisher King. I say vaguely because I sort of ignored it and did what I wanted but the theme is there!

_‘Even that is not so simple as you would believe,’ said the Dragon, ‘for whatever has stood in the world leaves behind an imprint, an echo, a scent, a spirit. What is destroyed is also reclaimed. What has been lost waits to be found.’  
\- Jeannette Winterson "Battle of the Sun"_

his hands were seeped in his father's blood. no healer was he, no light of stars or offworldly power to make him more than what he is, a son, with his hands over his father's body, trying to staunch the bleeding with rags and elven-cloth. it spurts and seeps, rich in colour in a landscape so grey, a colour so strong that it makes his eyes sting in fear.

his father, oropher of the evergreen fades to grey, fades into part of the battlefield, no more than a casualty of war. he thinks of calling for aid, for help, but all are deaf and dead to him. 

his voice is hoarse though he cannot remember crying.

* * *

he is wed. the flowers bloom.

* * *

he comes home from a long campaign against the dragons of the north. his face stings of ash and bone and he conceals it best as he can, fey-grim and tall. his was a bloodline not long or noble but untouched and evergreen. evergreen like the woods that he raises and grows like his very own. he knows the saplings by name. he knows the bark by touch. 

he comes home with blood on his hands and his wife is dead. 'strayed too far from the paths' his people say and he does not understand. were not all paths safe? he had grown them, nurtured them, tended them to his care.

'the monsters of gundabad struck swiftly,' they say and he does not understand.

* * *

the flower-crown wilts with age. 

or some whispered reason in the halls.

* * *

train him well, is thranduil's only instruction, train him to be the best. let him move like river-water down the path. let him be nimble and quick in all things.

my lord, they question, why must a prince excel in the art of war?

a prince must know how to defend himself against the world, was his reply.

a prince would not be caught by the dark, he thinks to himself.

* * *

the darkness encroaches on his land, seeping and feeding into the very bark and leaves. thranduil increases the guard, and pushes his powers to its extent. the land breathes to his tempest and it shudders under his weight. his hair fades to the starlight she had loved and he curses it daily. 

he has no elven-ring, no divine power to keep his lands safe. nothing but a cold heart warmed over by falling leaves in the snow.

he restricts access to the woods. the realm is kept safe but the trees weep.

* * *

they celebrate under the stars. thranduil takes legolas by arm's length to walk under the light of Earendil, their beloved star. his son is marked by no darkness, no curling frost in his veins and the brightness of the eldar bleeds in his eyes. 

thranduil is grateful (he thinks)

* * *

tauriel is in love. 

his heart fractures a little bit more, but what is a fracture to the maze of wounds?

* * *

he brings his people home. they no longer call him the ill-tempered king. he does not know what they see in him now that make them look upon him in wonder and awe, touched by majesty. he does not know and he does not ask. 

( there were tears on his cheeks, like stardrops from the moon )

( our poor king has learned and lost his wealth on a winter's day )

* * *

in the last stand between the good and the dark, the enemy struck the woods with their might while the rest were called to barad-dur. he called the woods to his aid and smothered them with his power. leaves choked the air, bark screamed. and the elves moved in the shadows, striking their enemy down. they were deadly trained, as their king has trained them again and again.

( for no elf should bleed colour )

tauriel is lost to an arrow and she departs with a smile. he would bless the grave but she would not appreciate such empty gestures.

( you have no love ) 

the woods are never the same. there is a listlessness in the air, a sense of betrayal. but he does not walk the woods anymore and sees to his people first.

* * *

legolas departs for valinor. 

like his father, he does not look back

* * *

the leaves are green again.

but the crown does not flower.


End file.
